BLAME IT ON THE BOYS., ( archer )

[ophelia]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true] 1111 and archer/dana and why is he so terrible and wearing and sorry for the delay. it was only recently when ophelia had decided to take the late shift at madame puddifoot's. it was a shift that required some nerve - money counting was involved, and lots of it, and numbers had never been her strong suit. leaning against the counter of the tearoom, the girl furrowed her brow with an agitated sigh. the galleons, sickles and knuts weren't adding up, and the float was off. nudging a pile of golden coins with the tip of her wand, ophelia resisted the urge to get through the task with magic. the honest to god reason as to why she had taken the shift was to burn time. flipping the coins back into the register, ophelia began counting again, adding the numbers mentally before finally giving up and adding a handful of sickles from her own purse into the till in order to make up for whatever was missing. the late shift meant that she wouldn't get home until the sun was well down and the moon was above the horizon. that in turn meant that she would be getting home only a little before archer would. it had started getting to her lately. the waiting around until her fiancee showed up from work, the eventual falling asleep from impatience and waking to a light kiss on her temple and nothing more. she couldn't remember the last time when they had actually sat down and done something together. throwing the money into the safe and magicking it shut, ophelia gave the tearoom a once over with her eyes before proceeding to lock up, wondering if she should apparate home or just walk. deciding on the latter, she procured her lapin coat and slid it on, casting one last defigo to secure the doors. if someone truly wanted to steal from the tearoom, they could go ahead. the safe was so tightly jinxed that any attempt to open it would involve in the building burning down - a parting gift from the late madame puddifoot herself. starting down the lane that led away from the centre of hogsmeade, ophelia muttered a quiet lumos, summoning some light as the moon's rays were rather weak. there would have been a time when she feared walking by herself in the dark, but now was not one. ophelia was too engrossed in her own thoughts to pay much attention to what was around her as she finally arrived at the doorstep of the home which she shared with archer. unlocking the door with another muttered spell, the woman glided in, expecting to see some light or perhaps hear archer's voice, but instead finding the house to be empty and relentlessly silent. sighing and kicking the door shut with a heeled foot, ophelia lit the lamps within the house, coming to the kitchen and leaning on the doorway. of course, since she hadn't been home all day, not only was her stomach systematically gnawing away at her innards but there was nothing to eat. this could have easily been solved by the means of magic, but ophelia admittedly preferred the muggle way of cooking. kicking her heels off and hanging the coat on a peg near the front door, the girl began with her task. when she started cooking, the world around her became a blur. although it was altogether uncommon to this day to have such an indepth knowledge in regards to the inner workings of muggle household applicances, it was admittedly ophelia's forte. tying an apron around her waist, she started on something a little more complex than usual, given the extraneous variable of the fact that archer was not home, resulting in some distress. pulling ingredients out of the pantry, she pushed her hair behind her ear with a frown - something to keep her occupied was at this point appreciated. a time later, she was sitting at the table, pushing the mushroom risotto around the plate with her fork. it was later than late at this point, and she had even managed to create a pie from scratch - with the aid of magic, of course. standing with a sigh and disposing of the plate in the sink, ophelia proceeded to wash up, giving the dark streets outside a sullen look. when she had become engaged to archer, she had known what she was in for. being an official in muggle control, archer had his hands full. that and he seemed to relish not having even a minute to himself, being a chronic workaholic. this left her with a great deal of time on her hands. when she was not working, ophelia was at her parent's house, visiting her baby sister and helping her mother. occasionally she would socialize with friends, but that was about it. there was a large void in her life where her fiancee should have been, but he wasn't. she wasn't so much as one to complain. no, ophelia knew there were worse things out there. as long as he was safe, she shouldn't care. shutting off the water which was collecting around her wrists, the female stared at the empty house with a weary expression. she could go have a shower and sleep. later she would feel his eventual weight on the otherside of the bed, and the routine kiss in the morning. it could have been enough, but it wasn't. fingers gripping the counter top, ophelia came to the decision that she would stay up this time around. she wouldn't even get into her pyjamas. no, she would be there to say hello to him and give him his dinner - like a good partner, she imagined. sitting at the chair that she had previously been occupying, ophelia procured a mug of coffee and sat, staring abjectly through the window. he couldn't be that long. the minutes turned in quarters, halves and then the full hour, and she could feel the weariness setting in. leaning her chin into her palm, ophelia allowed her eyes to slide shut. the constant view of the mint green cupboards was making her oddly queasy. the darkness behind her eyes was some solace, but the atmosphere of weariness was suffocating. only a minute... her voice startled her, but sleep was quick to come. folding her arms onto the table, the female rested her cheek on the crook that was created. the lights were dim and her coffee was long forgotten, as was the table rather uncomfortable, but she was exhausted. at least he would see her once he walked in - that would wake her up so she could fufill what she set out to do. the fire in your heart is out

[dana5]

It was another late night for Archer Wren.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching for what seemed like the billionth time in the past hour, and dropped his hands to rub at his tired eyes. With the new Delacroix Decree, as the Daily Prophet had dubbed it, things were busy as usual at Muggle Control. Archer rarely found a spare moment to eat, let alone rest. This was perhaps the third night in a row that Archer had spent working late at the ministry – even after the Minister himself had probably left – and as he finished up the last of his paperwork, he glanced at the pristine watch his grandfather, Archer Sr., had given him on his seventeenth birthday. Upon seeing the time the hands of the clock pointed to, the dark-haired man winced. He was late.

But then again, he was always late, Archer reflected as he strode briskly down the abandoned hallways of the Ministry. There was a sort of peace that pervaded the place after the bustle had died down a little. Occasionally, Archer would pass open doors where he would hear the scratching of quills and the flare of lights, and he would call a soft good night to those not as fortunate as he. He’d been in that position before, and he was grateful that he’d be getting off this early. Unfortunately, to the rest of the world, and Archer’s fiancé, early in Ministry time translated to late everywhere else. Archer made it to the atrium, signed his name out, then turned on the spot and Apparated just outside of his cottage.

Well, their cottage. He and Ophelia had gotten it together after leaving Hogwarts – even then, he’d been madly in love with her – and now, as he swung open the gate and tromped up the hill, Archer could still remember the beaming, the smiling, the kisses, and the new-house-welcome-quickie that had followed the passing of the deed. At the moment, however, Archer felt nothing but the dredges of the work day catching up to him, and as he unlocked the front door, all he knew he wanted to do was fall into bed with Ophelia and sleep until the next morning when he had to return to the Ministry.

A light flickering in the kitchen drew Archer’s attention, however, and the twenty-six year old straightened up immediately, alert. She shouldn’t be awake by now, but there was no sign of struggle. Archer drew his wand, nevertheless, and started advancing to the kitchen, his footsteps muffled by the carpet of his home. Whoever the intruder could possibly be, Archer was sure that he would be able to overpower him.

But there was no one waiting to ambush him as he turned swiftly around the corner to face the inside of the kitchen. It was simply a light that Ophelia had forgotten to turn off, and when he stepped closer, it wasn’t hard to see why. Archer’s serious face softened slightly as he saw her, sleeping in a sitting position over the table. With a guilty pang, he saw his dinner, cold, sitting untouched across from her. He’d told her earlier than he would be able to make it to dinner, but… Athea had come in, and his paperwork had piled up, and by the time he’d finished it, it was already so late. Archer stepped forward quietly toward her and brushed hair from her face lightly. How long had it been since he’d last kissed her? She looked impossibly innocent in sleep, and the more he looked at her, the guiltier he felt about having her wait for him.

“Sorry,” he murmured to her sleeping form, stowing away his wand and gently touching her shoulder. It was too late for him to atone for missing dinner, but at least he could help her get into bed, instead of having to sleep in an awkward position over the table. “Ophelia, love? It’s time for you to go to bed,” he said gently, a tone he only adopted in her presence. It had grown from annoyance to hatred to lust and finally, to gentleness. It may have been a long road, but Archer was glad for it. “You shouldn’t have waited for me.”

[ophelia]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true] 808 and archer/dana and i made it shorter and wearing and yay, pish 8D sleep came quickly, but she was dreaming. it had been a long time since slumber had been deep enough to sway her into the nightfall behind her eyes. an eternal battle with her conciousness, but she was aware as her thoughts swooped through a jungle of colours and lights that made no discernable shape or had any form. a twitch of fingers as she attempted to form cohesive images, and ophelia slid into whatever world she had conjured in the few moments that she had been struggling to regain concious thought. a darkened forest, one that looked eerily like the forbidden one at hogwarts. laying in pine needles, looking at a sliver of the moon, an unbearable cold wrapping around her limbs. a shadow in between the trees, and her breathing constricted to the extent that her pulse skipped. despite staring hopelessly into the dark, she could not make out what it was that was prowling around her. not until it spoke, that is. the utterance of an apology had her jumping, as did the hand on her shoulder. lifting her head with a crown of blonde tangles obstructing her vision momentarily, ophelia sighed. and here was archer. pushing her fingers through her hair, the female fixed him with a bleary expression. perhaps if she hadn't seen his own look of exhaustion, she would have conjured up some stubbornness to placate the annoyance she felt. that and she found it hard to give him sass when he was using that tone of voice with her. leaning back into the chair that had been her temporary bed, ophelia braved a barely-there smile which was the barest lift of her lips. ...what time is it? peering out the kitchen window above the sink, the girl saw the first gunmetal shades of a night receding - it had to be the preliminary hours before the morning. standing slowly and eyeing the food that was now cold, as was everything else edible in the kitchen, she felt a sudden weariness that had her leaning on the table with a palm to support her weight. maybe i shouldn't have, but i wanted to a raise of her eyes from the neutral wood of the kitchen table and a bigger smile. ophelia wanted to see him. when was the last time she had? there were minute things about his features that she hadn't remembered being there previously. the addition of more lines around his eyes, the consistent weariness that had her straightening out of guilt for feeling any herself. she couldn't blame him - it was his job, and no matter how much he probably would have perferred coming home in time for dinner, he couldn't. it's okay though reaching for her wand, the girl gave a little flick of her wrist, ridding the dishes of the food and stacking them near the sink. she could deal with it tomorrow. turning again, ophelia closed the gap between them and wound her arms around his neck. had he always been this much taller than her? perhaps she had shrunk. the thought made her laugh quietly. it was more likely that she was being overdramatic. come on, you look exhausted. time for bed, hm? a quiet tone that she didn't often possess, but the types of tired she was extended far beyond her usual exuberance. unwrapping her arms from around him, ophelia instead wove her fingers through the ones of one of his hands, leaning up to press a kiss to the bottom of his jaw. a part of her was slightly frightened, admittedly. given all their time apart, ophelia couldn't quite work out if damage control was needed. was their relationship suffering? how could she tell when she hardly ever saw him? what were the signs? archer wren had been her only serious relationship, one which had resulted in them becoming fiancees. to what could she compare the current situation to? there was no gauge, no indication. all that she could do was assume that everything was alright. besides, how long could his occupation with his work go on for? the rest of his life. chewing the inside of her cheek, the girl gave his hand a little tug, starting up the stairs that led to their shared bedroom. when was the last time they had even had sex? it startled her when she estimated the amount of time. considering that their initial relationship had been one of furious passion, the step down was significant. looking at his face, however, ophelia didn't have the heart to bring it up. he was tired, and he didn't need the possibility that their relationship was falling apart on his plate. neither did she, to be honest. didn't they all say that ignorance was bliss, any ways? the fire in your heart is out

[dana5]

At first, Archer prepared himself for the worst when he shook her awake. Ophelia had never stayed up late to greet him when he came home from work, so why would she wait for him this time, unless he’d missed something? He imagined anger, annoyed remarks; he imagined the ways he could grovel at her feet, begging for forgiveness in a way that was uncharacteristic for Archer Wren. However, he was pleased – and perhaps a little disappointed – at her ready, if tired, smile, and the way she seemed to simply accept that he was late. Although any other man probably would’ve been relieved at his fiance’s easy going nature, Archer felt dissatisfied. When they had been going out at Hogwarts, their nights were often filled with flame. In the dungeons on any given day, the two probably could’ve been found arguing heatedly over some minute thing before falling, tangled together on the couch, furiously trying to kiss the way they’d been arguing: with anger, and eventually, passion.

“Late,” he joked lightly, pressing a light kiss to her forehead as she leaned back. His kisses had gradually become more and more chaste as time went on and work seemed to take the place of her in his life. Archer found himself missing the heat of their teenage years. “But now we’ll both be tired in the morning,” he murmured to her as she wrapped her arms around his neck loosely and flashed her brilliant smile to him. Merlin, her smile; he missed seeing it. Lately, the only expressions she’d shown to him were ones of blank contentment as she slept and he crept into the bed at the late hours his work demanded from him. His arms automatically went around her, more of an instinct than anything. She felt solid within his embrace, but Archer’s dazed brain did nothing more to command his arms than to connect around her. He should have hugged her tightly, should have done something, but he didn’t. Was that a sign? He wondered blearily, half-asleep already. “Time for bed,” he agreed with a whisper, almost a sigh. Their bed was looking more and more inviting in his mind’s eye by the second.

Had he always felt so old? Archer had always considered himself mature for his age, even as a seventeen year old (though there had been many things he hadn’t known then), but that had only been in mental age. Back then, he had energy and time to spare, being one of the many languid, lazy seventh years from time to time. Perhaps that’s why he had all the energy to fuel anger, fire, and passion that had brought the two together. Now, however, Archer felt as though he’d aged ten thousand years. He still walked proudly, shoulders thrown back, chest puffed out, but he felt as though he needed to be hunched over, bent forward by the weight of the burden on his shoulders. The Ministry had been his first and only option upon leaving school; his grandfather had seen to that. On his best day, he actually enjoyed the work – he enjoyed being able to go several different places around Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, even if it was to apprehend muggleborns – but most of the time, Archer treated it with indifference that seemed to have seeped its way into his private life as well. His daily routine was wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep, repeat. He wasn’t living the life of an engaged man; he was living life as a bachelor.

The kiss that she pressed lightly to his jawline jerked him a little out of the doldrums of sleep. Although he was both physically and mentally exhausted, the number of days he’d gone without her flashed behind his eyelids. Even if he closed them and welcomed the darkness, it was still there, taunting him with its magnitude. Didn’t she deserve something? A tiny voice popped into his head, and Archer swatted at it half-heartedly; if he was hearing voices, he wasn’t in any condition to give Ophelia the attention she deserved. But it continued to circle around, spitting out the same two questions over and over again until Archer simply gave up and did what any other guy would’ve done ages ago, voice or not.

He reached up their conjoined hands and kissed the back of her hand lightly, encircled her wrist with the brush of his lips, and slowly worked his way up her arm. He had been standing in front of her and now, Archer tugged lightly at her wrist, urging her to follow him into their bedroom so that the number flashing obnoxiously at the back of his eyelids would once again reach zero.



omgit'sshortimsorry

[ophelia]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true] 750 and archer/dana and shortness and wearing and fff ;c it had been a long known fact that yawning while in someone else's presence would usually result in the other starting to yawn themselves. the same thing extended to the general emotion of weariness which was creeping into her bones the longer that she watched him. despite the fact that he walked with all confidence and as he did in his youth - cock-sure and ready to take on the world, there was still that tiredness that drove nails through his feet, causing the drag that was subtley changing him. at this moment, she was examining his face for an answer to a question she hadn't even posed yet. i don't know about you, but i can deal with it. a hint of a teasing tone as his expression changed, arms going around her waist. she could feel that he wasn't so much holding her, as simply having his arms around her mechanically. don't tell me you've gone soft. pushing against his chest, his voice conveyed the exhaustion that any idiot could have fathomed, resulting in a small nod from her. the concern was growing, but it was a feral, wild animal that she kept hidden deep within her, never to see the light of day. it was as dark as the jealousy that she had once felt over him in their highschool days, the emotion of skepticism and doubt. they weren't concerns that she felt she should voice unless if he voiced them first - the concern that something irreversable was happening to their relationship. ophelia hadn't really expected his reaction as she kissed him gently, watching his eyes close. she was far too used to going without to expect any retaliation on his behalf. even then, the usual bolt of desire was slow to stir as his lips touched her skin. she was quick to cover up any hesitation with an arched eyebrow and a half smirk that held volumes of suggestion. even then, she couldn't help but feel bad as he tugged on her wrist, resulting in her stepping forward. archer was tired - was it selfish to want what he was offering her? in the end, she put it down to wanting to know where they stood. if it was something that neither of them were willing to address vocally, then maybe she could feel whether something had changed? maybe it would be in the song that they sung with their bodies, something different in the shift of weight and sighs expelled. ophelia followed, but she was conflicted. did she want to know? did she want to find out? what would the consequences be if she did? raising her eyes to meet his, she voiced her question in an arch of her eyebrow, stopping him midway up the stairs. you sure? you'll be tired tomorrow... was that the real reason? she didn't know, but the incessant whirling of her thoughts was starting to irk her. coming level to him on the step, the girl leaned over, bumping noses like a foolish teenager in the dimness in her quest to find his lips. why couldn't she have him tonight? why couldn't she close her thoughts off and just let sleeping dogs lay? when she had finally found his lips, ophelia attempted to inject some of that old frevour, but she was faltering as she kissed him, teeth catching his bottom lip to make up for any clumsiness. when had it gotten like this? the insecurity was frightening her, and that anxiety drove her closer so she was the one instigating. conspiracy theories sprung into mind - and what was she without him? they had been together too long for her to remember what being alone felt like. ophelia half turned, squeezing her eyes shut against the barrage of musings that frightened her more than all the waters of the ocean could. hands finding his shirt, she yanked him after her, leading the way to their bedroom with a simple sway of her hips after her hands had dropped away. if this is what he thought should happen, who was she to complain. ophelia wanted to be naive enough to believe that sex would solve the problem of his workaholic ways and save their engagement so they could at least tie the knot officially. pushing open the door of their shared bedroom, she took a moment to assess the darkness before turning, unable to make out his features in the shades of early morning but backing up until she felt the bed behind her knees. it couldn't hurt to explore what it was that was that was distressing her. it would be a plunge, but there was nothing to lose, at least, not now. looking up at him as he came closer, ophelia smiled again. she was scared out of her mind, but what could she say? the fire in your heart is out

[dana5]

Kissing her was familiar. After so long – almost a decade – of being together, Archer knew every inch of her face. If he’d been given a task to sketch it, even being the absolutely ruddy artist that he was, he probably would have been able to make a fairly good representation of Ophelia. His fingers had traced over every inch of her skin, his lips the same; to not know her by now would be impossible. If he drew her, Archer would struggle to put in the small, intimate things that he couldn’t possibly put on a canvas: the way she kissed, the feel of her hands on his arms—emotions that he couldn’t possibly convey to another person. Once, when they were younger, it had sparked annoyance within him; they’d started out their relationship fighting. When they first kissed, Archer remembered an overwhelming, searing passion: anger had mixed with lust and vice versa until seventeen year old Archer couldn’t separate the two. Now, instead of the overlarge flame, their kiss tasted more of a simmering spark: warmer than most, but after a flame like the one they once had – the one they still had, Archer told himself fiercely – was it such a surprise that Archer yearned for something hotter?

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Archer growled, half-jokingly as they stumbled their way through the dark to their bedroom. His eyes strained themselves to see the outline of her face, but all he could see was the soft hints of light on the horizon. It was so late, it was early, and Archer was ashamed that he did, in fact, fear that he would be too tired in the morning. When had it become this? Their noses bumped awkwardly in the darkness, and Archer almost laughed at the ridiculousness; when was the last time they’d messed up a kiss? It should have been something endearing – something that made Archer want to submit himself entirely to his most primitive desire – but Archer only found a mild interest and an overwhelming sense of sadness. It opened up within him like a large canyon; he was on one side, and she was on the other.

Ophelia stopped suddenly, and Archer nearly tumbled, his feet hitting the edge of their bed awkwardly. Usually, after work, he’d come home and go straight to bed, toppling into the sheets with only a soft kiss for Ophelia to wake up to. It had been ages, longer than he could remember, since Archer had stood there, in this position. When he moved forward, pushing her back onto the bed, it was more automatic than he intended, and when they fell back on the mattress, Archer braced himself above her with arms on either side of her head instinctively, rather than in any real need. His body was reacting accordingly – his muscles tensed when he lowered himself down to kiss her again – but Archer’s mind drifted from how habitual this felt now to how it had once been to work the next morning, and how tired he’d feel. He thought of the mountains of paper work, and almost groaned aloud when he caught himself.

He was thinking about work, when he had an absolutely gorgeous fiancé who seemed to be more than eager to reciprocate his rather bland advances; Archer could have slapped himself. Since when had he become that man, the one who thought of work and business before his own family? He surely couldn’t have learned it from his parents. They served as his model of what a couple should be, and as Archer kissed her, his hand running down her side and gripping her hip, sliding the soft fabric of her shirt up, he wondered if this was what they felt when they kissed, or… Merlin’s fucking beard, he was thinking about his parents before he was about to sleep with his fiancé. The dark-haired twenty-six year old groaned out loud at his thoughts, and he hoped dearly that Ophelia would mistake the groan for one of need.




this is crap and overdue. :c

[ophelia]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true] 700 and archer/dana and blah and wearing pyjamas and my creys. at the familiar growl in his voice, ophelia smiled, albeit slightly painfully. she had never missed the past as much as she did now, back in the day when that tone of voice sent her into orbit, revolving around him. back in the day when that tone of voice resulted in skin against skin, the scrape of stone on her shoulders from kisses that were far too heated. at this moment, however, she felt a dull lick of flame in the pit of her stomach - hardly enough to fuel the fire. yes, sir. the trip up to the bedroom was one that had been done so many times before, but never with so much fumbling or awkwardness. it was as if the pair had ceased to know eachother, had ceased recognizing eachother. feeling his weight on her front, she tilted her chin up, feeling his lips on hers again. it was almost surgical, the way that they were kissing. practiced, precise, detached. as the moments trickled by, she tensed further and further, feeling the distress mount in the back of her mind until a groan broke her concentration, leading her to break the kiss and prop herself up on her elbows. ... archer? voice soft, ophelia ran her fingers through her hair. at this point, an irrevocable fear was shaking her countenance which such a furor that she wriggled out from beneath him, hunching at the opposite end of the bed - much like a wounded animal as she stared at him. what had she done wrong? was it even her fault? or were they both to blame? in that moment, the girl was made very aware of the shambles that their relationship had run into. her mind ached to sink into the depths of denial to protect her feelings, but instead she simply hugged her knees, attempting to collect herself. i think, what did she know? there was nothing for her to compare her current situation to. perhaps that was just how relationships went - they aged, withered, occasionally fell apart. perhaps that was what they were destined to. but then the denial kicked in - what about when they were seventeen? what ophelia had to make herself understand was that she was twenty six, and had been with the same man for nine years. nine long years, in which his career had sucked his old life out of him and given him something new. he had changed, whereas she had simply been waiting. in reality, it was both of their faults - hers for becoming stagnant, his for growing up and away from her. ... that we should just sleep. and what would that do for them? nothing. they would slip into the same old routine, the one where all she felt or heard from him was a kiss in the morning and one in the evening. he would slip back into work, and she would slip back into a bone crunching loneliness which seemed signature at this point. sighing, ophelia slipped off the bed, feeling around for her pyjamas in the darkness of the room. she didn't want him to see her expression, to see the hurt in her face, but most importantly, the fear. what was ophelia sparrow without her wren? escaping to the conjoining bathroom, the woman took a moment to extinguish the urge to yell, cry, or to run away, by methodically changing into her pyjamas - shorts and an old hoodie. looking at her expression in the mirror, she frowned. when had she gotten so old? past her use-by date, as muggles would say? sleep would be relief from the barrage of accusations that were pouring out of her eyes as she exited, simply sliding into her side of the bed and avoiding looking at him, gaze pointedly stuck on the far wall. perhaps she should have made something of it, but ophelia was reluctant. was it her own imagination, her paranoia, her posessiveness speaking, or was there really some sense to the nonsensical that both of them could see? the sparrow girl was simply to frightened to ask at that point. the fire in your heart is out